


The New Frontier V: From Camelot To Crazy

by BradyGirl_12



Series: The New Frontier (DCU) [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: 1960s, 1963, 1968, Bingo, Bingo Card, Bronze Age, Challenge Response, Challenges, Drama, First Time, Historical, John F. Kennedy - Freeform, M/M, Male Slash, Series, Silver Age, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: When the world around you is going crazy, time to grab the ones you love and hold on tight.





	1. The Taste Of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Series Notes: Well, it’s no secret that I absolutely love Darwyn Cooke’s _The New Frontier!_ As I read it I got all sorts of ideas, and will collect them under the umbrella title, _The New Frontier._ Stories could range from slash to (gasp!) gen and het. :) I’d like to focus on many different characters within the framework of _The New Frontier_ universe, or use it as a jumping-off point. All stories can be found [here](http://bradygirl-12.dreamwidth.org/5007444.html).  
>  Ratings: G, NC-17  
> Claim: For my 2017 [Bruce/Dick Bingo Card](http://bradygirl-12.dreamwidth.org/5052740.html).  
> Prompt: _Elseworlds_  
>  Pattern: Row C (Straight/Vertical Line Bingo) (3/3)  
> Prompt Count: (3/9)  
> Warnings: None  
> Spoilers: None  
> Original DW/LJ Dates Of Completion: March 19, 24, 2017  
> Original DW/LJ Dates Of Posting: May 3, 12, 2017  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.  
> Original DW/LJ Word Count: 686 + 1650 = (Total: 2336)  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1963, the future looks bright.

_“We’ll all be planning that route_  
_We’re gonna take real soon_  
_We’re waxing down our surfboards_  
_We can’t wait for June_  
_We’ll all be gone for the summer_  
_We’re on surfari to stay_  
_Tell the teacher we’re surfin’_  
_Surfin’ U.S.A.”_

  


**The Beach Boys**  
**“Surfin’, U.S.A.”**  
**Capitol Records**  
**1963 C.E.**

  
In the summer of 1963, demonstrations for the civil rights movement continued, with some violence (usually initiated by the non-violent protesters’ enemies), but culminating in the historic March On Washington on August 28th. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his ‘I Have A Dream’ speech, and the President met with him and the March organizers in the White House.

In the summer of 1963, the President signed the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty on August 5th, and a summer of weekends turned sad as the Kennedys’ third child, Patrick, was born prematurely in August, dying soon after because of respiratory complications. 

In the summer of 1963, _The Beatles_ were still honing their craft in Europe. In the U.S., _The Beach Boys_ were singing _Surfin’ U.S.A._ and _Surfer Girl_ , _The Crystals_ released _Da Doo Ron Ron_ , Lesley Gore wailed about _It’s My Party (And I’ll Cry If I Want To),_ and _Peter, Paul And Mary_ crooned _Puff, The Magic Dragon_ and _Blowin’ In The Wind._

By the autumn of 1963, Rob Petrie was still tripping over that ottoman in the opening credits of _The Dick Van Dyke Show,_ _My Favorite Martian_ snarked, and the Cartwrights not only ruled the Ponderosa but the ratings as well.

And Dick Grayson was 16 and starting his junior year of high school.

He and Batman were coming back from patrol early one September morning as Batman drove the familiar country roads.

“Bruce?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that peace really has a chance?”

Batman looked over at his earnest young partner. Robin had always been mature for his age. “I do.”

“Even after they built the Berlin Wall a couple of summers ago and things got tense when the military went on alert?”

“Yes. The President handled that all right, didn’t he?” Batman gently swerved to avoid a squirrel in the road.

“Yeah.”

“And didn’t he save us from nuclear war last year during the Cuban Missile Crisis?”

“Yes.”

Batman had suspected that despite the presence of Superman and Supergirl during that crisis, the world had still been in grave danger. Later during a meeting of their civilian identities, Clark had confirmed it, a haunted look in his otherworldly blue eyes.

“Linda and I couldn’t have stopped all the missiles, Bruce. Some would have gotten through.”

In that moment, Bruce realized that Clark had been the closest he had ever been to becoming a dictator. If taking over the world saved it from blowing up, why wouldn’t Clark do it?

“You mean the Test Ban Treaty?”

“What?”

“The treaty JFK signed with the Russians. He’s really trying, isn’t he?” 

Batman smiled. “You met him as Robin and Dick more than once. What do you think?”

“That he’s a good guy.”

“Yes, he is.”

Robin ran a gloved finger over the dashboard. “That march last month in Washington was really something.”

Batman expertly handled a steep curve as they drew closer to home. “Gives you hope, doesn’t it?” Sometimes he had his doubts, but the spirit of optimism that the President exuded even influenced his natural pessimism.

“Very much.” Robin flashed his trademark grin. “We can do anything if we try hard enough.”

“Who?”

“My generation. Americans.” Robin gestured expansively. “Anyone who wants to be free.”

“Does that include the Teen Titans?”

Robin laughed. “You bet!”

Batman smiled. Maybe people in this decade _could_ make a difference. Old injustices could finally be dealt with, and new challenges like space taken on.

He glanced at Robin. He hoped that the teen would never lose his sense of hope and wonder.

_You’re very special, Dick. Don’t let the world drag you down. We’ve got a real chance to do great things as a country._

As the Batmobile slipped under the waterfall into the Batcave, Batman held Robin’s joy close to his heart.


	2. The Sweet Smell Of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1968, the future looks grim.

_“Has anybody here seen my old friend John,_  
_Can you tell me where he's gone?_  
_He freed a lotta people, but it seems the good die young_  
_But I just looked around and he's gone.”_

**Dion  
** **_"Abraham, Martin & John"_**  
**Laurie Records**  
**1968 C.E.**

****

**  
**

In the summer of 1968, the cities burned, whether from race or the war, it hardly mattered. They could have been fueled by rage over the murder of Martin Luther King, Jr. in the spring, or Bobby Kennedy two months after that. Maybe some were still incensed by losing Jack Kennedy. Whatever the cause, 1968 was the Year of Madness.

That summer, Arlo Guthrie premiered _Alice’s Restaurant_ at the Newport, Rhode Island Folk Festival, and the next month featured the bizarre show at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Somehow the Democrats managed to nominate Hubert Humphrey for President while cops and protesters battled outside the convention hall in a full-scale war.

 _Hey, Jude_ by _The Beatles_ and _Mrs. Robinson_ by _Simon & Garfunkel_ led the pop charts, while that cake melted in the rain in MacArthur Park and had anybody seen _Abraham, Martin & John_? Jeannie C. Riley strutted and snarked in _Harper Valley, PTA_ , and the British Invasion had come, conquered, and moved on.

 _Star Trek_ grokked Spock, and everyone loved _I Dream Of Jeannie_. Kelly and Scotty were spying for Uncle Sam in _I Spy_ and Jim and Artie did the same in the 1870s in _The Wild Wild West. Rowan And Martin’s Laugh-In_ changed all the rules. 

And Dick Grayson was 21, graduated from Hudson University, and unsure of what his next step would be as summer turned into fall.

Bruce was quietly afraid that he was going to lose Dick forever, that his wanderlust would allow him only trips home for Christmas and the occasional telephone call or letter.

He had realized during Dick’s college years that he loved the young man, and not as a mentor. He wanted him and that scared him. Was something wrong with him? But Dick was grown now.

_Yet he’ll never love me that way._

And so Bruce tucked away his desire and did what he did best: denied his feelings.

When Dick called him to meet him in a small town upstate, he agreed. Dick was staying with a friend in Bethel, New York, and his invitation surprised Bruce but he was curious, so set out in his Porsche for the environs of the Empire State.

The ride was pleasant on the New York Thruway as the autumn season was in its full glory. The fields were full of color, especially as he came closer to his destination. It took him nearly all day but as dusk fell he reached the town of Bethel and found the building in which Dick was currently staying. He had seen a quaint inn on his way through town as a possible lodging for the night.

He parked around in the back of the modest two-story building. It was an old Victorian that needed a fresh paint job. He went to the back door and knocked. He looked up as a window sash went up on the second floor. Dick poked his head out.

“Come on in, it’s unlocked.” He closed the window again.

Bruce pushed the door open, not too keen on the lack of security but he closed the door behind him. He was standing in a kitchen with an old Formica table and mismatched chairs. Dishes were drying in a rack on the counter. He found the stairs past a living room with books, clothes, and old take-out cartons and pizza boxes scattered around and went up, each step creaking all the way.

He could smell the distinctive scent of marijuana smoke with some patchouli mixed in. It was dark up here on the second floor. The doors were open but the drapes were drawn in every room: bedrooms, a bathroom, a study. He didn’t see Dick in any of them until he reached the end of the hall. The room on the right smelled heavily of incense.

“Come on in, Bruce.”

Dick sat cross-legged on the bed in the dark room. The black drapes were drawn and the only light came from a glowing lava lamp on the nightstand. Psychedelic posters celebrating _The Grateful Dead_ and _Moby Grape_ hung on the walls and books spilled over a small wooden bookcase.

Dick was wearing bellbottoms and a wildly-colored paisley shirt. His hair was extremely shaggy and uncombed. It was wild like he was, Bruce thought, also noting with some amusement that the brightly-colored ‘mod’ look these days probably gladdened Dick’s heart.

_What happened to my neat, disciplined boy?_

Bruce mentally shrugged. He could voice his disapproval but the generation gap was a pain-in-the-neck. Better to say nothing.

“Everyone’s out. Peter’s off to a pot party and Rick is gone for the weekend. Just us chickens.”

“Do you mean I’m no longer a spring chicken?”

Dick laughed, relaxing Bruce a little. It sounded like his old self. “Imagine you making jokes! Wow, the world really is crazy.”

Bruce threw a pile of sweaters off a chair located at the foot of the bed and sat down. Dressed in a brown pair of slacks and casual matching jacket, he loosened his yellow turtleneck collar. Brown loafers were comfortable on his feet as he crossed his legs.

“What’s up?”

Dick leaned back against the headboard. He wiggled his bare toes and smiled saucily. “How do you like the décor?”

“A little clichéd.” He coughed. “And a little heavy on the incense.”

“Sorry, but it chases away the weed smell.”

Bruce cocked his head. “What’s this all about? Why did you want me to drive up here to picturesque Bethel, New York, and comment on your pothead friends’ interior decoration?”

Dick smiled. “Still with the razor-sharp wit. You always kept me on my toes.”

“Same here.”

Dick’s smile faded. “Do you remember a conversation we had one night coming home in the Batmobile about the President?”

Bruce frowned. “About LBJ?”

“No, JFK and how anything was possible.”

Bruce remembered. “Yes.”

“My generation…and yours…felt anything was possible.” Dick’s face was shadowed as the lava lamp’s glow illuminated his hair. “The space race, the Peace Corps, civil rights…and then a few months later he was dead, his head blown off in broad daylight on the streets of an American city.” Dick put his hands down. “It all seemed to go to hell after that. Riots, protests, assassinations…my whole generation might never see thirty…the whole world is going crazy around us.” 

Bruce listened silently. He agreed with Dick’s assessment. There had been a real national depression after Dallas, and the ‘mod’ scene really began to make headway with the coming of _The Beatles_ to America in February 1964. They were something fun and frothy, and all of a sudden all the teenage boys began growing their hair and the teenage girls screamed for the Brits. It became a real British Invasion as other English bands followed.

“So I figured why not take what we want?” 

Bruce’s thoughts had drifted to feeling disturbed by the dark room. Dick belonged in sunshine and a free, open environment, not this dark, closed room.

Suddenly he realized what Dick had just said. “What?”

Dick was crawling toward him on the bed. His eyes gleamed in the dim light cast by the lava lamp and his movements were sinuous, like a panther’s. Bruce had the feeling of being stalked, but he trusted Dick.

“The rules are going out the window, Bruce. Someday we might see great changes, but they’re already beginning. The sexual revolution isn’t just at the barricades, it’s over it.”

Bruce smiled. Dick could always turn a colorful phrase.

The younger man noted Bruce’s amusement. He stayed on all fours and Bruce’s groin tingled. He waited for Dick’s next move.

“Tell me you feel the same way I do,” Dick said softly.

Bruce’s mouth went dry. “What, uh, are you talking about?”

“It’s okay, Bruce. It’s just you and me in this den of debauchery and iniquity. Tell me what you want.”

Bruce felt mild shock at the desire shining in his partner’s eyes. He knew how to see in the dark. Surely he wasn’t imagining it? His stomach knotted and he let his gaze run over Dick’s strong, young, perfect body.

_Say what you want. What you’ve wanted to say for years. What he’s already guessed._

The incense was heavy, cloying, dropping over Bruce like a blanket. He almost felt sick with the wanting.

_**Do** it!_

“I want to make love to you,” he rasped.

Joy lit Dick’s heavy-lidded gaze as he smiled.

“Hell in a handbasket, Bruce.”

Bruce reached out and grasped Dick’s broad shoulders.

& & & & & &

For the rest of his life, Bruce would remember this night of sex mixed with incense and a glow from that damned lava lamp

Nineteen sixty-eight was crazy. The country was crazy. The world was crazy.

The love they felt was forbidden. They would be despised, considered deviant and sick. The Summer of Love was for heterosexuals only.

Yet he and Dick had beaten the odds time and again on the streets of Gotham. If anyone could love in a crazy world, they could.

The sheets were _red silk!_ It looked like potheads knew how to live. As they slipped and slid over crimson silk, grasping and groaning and loving, Bruce knew he wanted this piece of the world. For once, he didn’t care about Gotham or crime or anything but the man he held in his arms, strong and beautiful beneath him and allowing himself to be stretched and filled and pleasured.

“I love you,” Dick groaned.

“I love you, too.” One final thrust. “The world can fucking go to hell as long as I have you.”

“Groovy, man.”


End file.
